1942
by clair-de-neptune
Summary: Maleficent Nacht is a prestigious overseer for the German army. In need of a new secretary, she hires quiet Aurora Strauss - but Maleficent realizes thoughts of Aurora are trickling in as slowly as rumors of atrocities. Not only does she have to deal with her attraction, but also the dreadful feeling that her loyalty to Germany was used for senseless slaughter.
1. Chapter 1

_March 5__th__, 1940_

"You _do _understand it is very…_unusual_ for a woman to want to become an overseeing strategist, Fräulein Nacht?"

The woman on the opposite side of the desk did not falter. "I do."

"How old are you?" The man sitting in the larger chair leaned forward on his elbows a bit.

Her chin lifted a bit higher in the air: her only expression of shriveled amusement. "I would think that you looked at my file before this interview, Herr Adler, and already know much more than simply my age." Adler's disinterested, watery brown eyes snapped up quickly to meet her cool green ones. She began counting on her fingers when he did not speak. "Such as the fact I am unmarried, I have no children, no foolish love affair, I attended Heidelberg University for three and a half years studying law, and that I quit soon after the war started." The slight tilt of her head punctuated her faint sarcasm. "Through all of that detailed information, my age was not given?"

Adler's jaw visibly clenched, and his hands found his papers as he shifted them. The woman, Miss Nacht, could practically see the unspoken curses tumbling out of his pursed lips. "Twenty-three," he muttered, then looked back up at her and narrowed his gaze. "Maleficent Nacht." A pause. "What kind of name is _Maleficent?_"

It came out ruder than intended. The woman only raised her eyebrows and opened her clasped hands from her lap. "An uncommon one."

"Very well," he murmured, then cleared his throat and straightened the papers. "Anyway," he said louder (to which Maleficent suppressed a sigh of irritation. Just because you speak louder, does not make you sound more intelligent, or authoritative), "to be frank, I am unsure of your capability to fulfill this position—"

_Schwachsinn, _Maleficent thought, but voiced this in a much more appropriate manner. "—To be frank, Herr Adler, I am aware you hire boy soldiers straight from the barracks when you are in desperate need of a position." This earned her a glare sharp enough to slice metal, but she remained unfazed. "They are disciplined, sure, but young and naïve."

"Do not forget that you, too, are young," he shot back quietly, but the volume of his voice did not match the volume of his frustration.

"I may be young, Herr Adler, but I am older than the boys you recruit."

He blatantly ignored this woven insult, leaned back in his chair, and sighed. "I cannot allow you to take this position."

Maleficent did not relax. "Give me _one_ valid reason, and that will be enough to make me leave and never return to your office again."

Aurel Adler_._ A man approaching his late fifties. Grey replaced a crown of thinning black hair. Broad shoulders, surprisingly thinner body. Large hands. Thick neck (it occasionally tightened, like a strangled turkey). Receding hairline. Pallid brown eyes. Hooked nose. Scowling, wrinkled lips.

Aurel Adler. Department Head. Department Chair. Department Know-It-All. Most fervent member of the Division of Egotism.

Aurel Adler. _Husband_ said the golden band on his left ring finger; _adulterer _said his occasional cautious glances and not-as-occasional staring at her body.

Aurel Adler and everything he entailed rose from his seat and walked over to a nearby window. He gazed out of it disinterestedly. Maleficent did not rise with him, as much as she wanted to show how much she could tower over him, she would not be visibly or emotionally daunted by his actions.

"Why do you strive for this position with such stubborn enthusiasm?" he asked bluntly, and turned to walk closer to Maleficent's chair.

"I wish to serve my country," she replied simply.

"You could serve Germany in many ways." His voice was hardly convincing. "You could sew uniforms. You could raise boys for the army. Hell," he took out a cigarette and lit it, "you could even become a nurse if you wanted. Go serve on the front lines with the soldiers."

She sucked in a quiet breath to control her rising anger as Adler sucked on his cigarette for the same reason. "I think, as an educated woman," she said with a casual seriousness, "I have the potential to serve in more influential ways other than that…not that those tasks aren't important. I respect that." Maleficent did. It was that she didn't want to be on the sides, chatting with war wives, sitting on her ass while others did bigger and better things, _knowing _she could do bigger and better things.

Sometimes, bigger (but not necessarily better) _A__rschlöcher_ (Maleficent gave a little sneer with her eyes to Adler at this thought) stand in the way.

"I believe that's the problem." Aurel Adler hissed out a puff of smoke from his nose like a haughty, agitated, old dragon. "Your gender would…interfere with the working environment."

Maleficent bit back a curse. She knew this was coming. "How so?" she inquired with as much curiosity as she could fake.

He pinched his cigarette tight in his fingers and made a _well, it's obvious _gesture as he spoke. "You would be surrounded by men. You would be a distraction. Plus, it might be uncomfortable for you."

"It's uncomfortable for me now, but I'm surviving, aren't I?" This time, a shocked (and thankfully silent) stare was what came as a reply. She allowed herself to smile a bit in victory. "Besides," she continued as if she hadn't just indirectly called him a horny creep, "I think you have seen enough of my disposition to know that I will not be…_submissive _to unwelcome advances of the opposite gender."

The irony was amusing her to no end. What a _shame_ that Adler didn't feel the same.

"I have not yet heard a convincing explanation," she reminded him. Adler sucked and chewed on the end of his cigarette furiously. _Perhaps he thinks_, Maleficent observed with a slightly arched brow, _that if he gnashes and burns up that poor roll of paper enough, it'll cough up a suitable half-ass reason._

"Fine." It came out as a low growl. "You start tomorrow." He stormed over to his desk and gathered a few papers. His fingers twitched in unreleased fury. "Here is everything you need to know. Arrive at seven-thirty sharp. Not a second later." A large hand with sausage-like fingers thrust the papers her direction. With calm elegance, she finally rose from her seat, flattened her black skirt, and looked down on Aurel Adler, a hint of smugness in her green eyes.

"Thank you for giving me this opportunity," she smiled, revealing a row of teeth that, at the moment, looked more like fangs. They gleamed. _More like I had to wrangle it from your grubby claws than take it graciously_, she thought, but continued her polite façade anyways. "I will see you tomorrow at precisely seven-thirty."

"No later," he snapped. "Or you're fired."

* * *

**Translations:**  
Fräulein: "Miss/Ms." Outdated today, regularly used back in the 40s.  
Herr: "Mister/Mr."  
Schwachsinn: imbecility, idiocy (like ridiculousness)  
Arschlöcher: assholes


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I just recently changed last chapter's date from September 5th to March 5th. I messed up my chronology a bit, haha. Translations are at the bottom.

* * *

_July 8__th__, 1940_

_There is nothing greater in the world, _Maleficent thought with a sigh of content, _than a clean, neat desk._

Maleficent had always been a stickler for organization. Not only was her desk neat, her entire office was immaculate: chairs were perfectly straight in line; windows were unmarred and flawlessly polished; tables and other wooden surfaces were dusted accordingly. It made her feel at ease, especially when she had stressful work on her hands.

Such as this damned telegram.

_To All Overseeing Strategists—_

_ It has been officially declared that Vichy France has broken relations with Britain. Marshal Petain leads Vichy France neutrally through war. German forces occupy the northern coastline. U-boats are in place._

_—Heerführer Adler_

This was her second time reading it, and even though it was short, the contents of it still made her nervous. Her fingers found the frames of her glasses and adjusted them habitually as she set the telegram down and sighed.

Rising from her seat, she plucked two pens from her desk and walked to the massive map of Europe that hung on the opposite wall. Uncapping the first pen, she traced a rough line that created a division along the northern French coast and the southern portion, then with the thicker second pen she wrote _besetzt _in bold letters along the northern section, and _Vichy-Frankreich_in the southern section.

North. _Occupied._

South. _Vichy France._

She took a step back. _U-boats are in place. _So they finally had their little bit of France, sure. While the soldiers were off celebrating the massive success of the bombing and occupation (and perhaps some strategists, too, were celebrating), she bit her lower lip and narrowed her eyes at the map. Any strategist that was off drinking in revelry was wasting precious planning time, because she foresaw something happening as soon as she read the telegram.

A pit of uneasiness rolled around in her stomach. _Vichy France has broken off relations with Britain._ _The U-boats are in place._

Were the generals really planning on attacking Britain?

Maleficent took a deep breath and rubbed her temples. She didn't doubt the strength of the German army, but to try to attack _Britain _was…well…a bold step. _More_ than a bold step. It was like diving head-first into the jaws of a lion. Did _any _of these commanders see the massive casualties in an attempted invasion?

The odds weren't looking as pretty as she hoped they would. Of course, Vichy France would break relations with Britain to avoid angering the Germans, since they occupied a good portion of their country. That meant France couldn't supply the British, but there was still the threat of America suddenly jumping in to assist, or at least quietly sell weapons across the Atlantic.

She scowled. _I hope these commanders know what they're getting into._

A set of raps on her door diverted her attentions. "Enter," she called without moving.

The door swung open quickly; quickly enough to create an audible draft of air that disturbed the papers placed squarely on her desk. She didn't have to turn around to know they were moved. With mild irritation, she adjusted the expression on her face and communicated her annoyance through her steely gaze instead.

Her visitor coughed and muttered an apology.

"Herr Amsel, I do hope this is urgent enough for me to excuse your wild strewing of my papers about in such a haphazard manner."

"Fräulein Nacht, I am sorry to—"

"Skip the pleasantries." Maleficent clasped her hands behind her back and eyed the man sternly. "What is the matter?"

He ran a hair through his raven-black hair. "Herr Adler requests your presence in his office."

Maleficent raised a questioning brow. "He couldn't have called?"

"I suppose he could have—"

"—Yes, we all _suppose_, Herr Amsel, but the fact that he chose not to is irritating." Amsel shifted on his feet and tried not to look at the ground. She continued without saying anything about his squeamish behavior. "Did he, by some God-given miracle, mention what for?"

Amsel shook his head. "But he did say to come whenever it conveniences you."

"Well, _that's_ a first." It came out before she could stop it. She winced inwardly. "Thank you, Herr Amsel. You are dismissed."

He gave a small bow of his head and exited briskly, which shifted the papers. Again. With minor exasperation, she returned them to their positions, put away a few files, and sat down with a tired sigh.

Diaval Amsel. What a flighty little bird of a character.

He wasn't a bother in some ways as much as he was in others. For example, he never tried to eye her inappropriately or make unwanted advances. He was never rude or subtly insulting like Aurel Adler because of her gender. He assisted her when needed, and could be even considered a friend of sorts.

_But my God, _Maleficent leaned back in her chair, took off her glasses, and rubbed her brow. _He's a bundle of unused energy._

He was. Diaval Amsel could easily talk her ear off all day if someone let him. With all that liveliness, Maleficent was surprised he hadn't shot off flying into the air.

It didn't annoy her as much as the disruption of her perfectly organized desk, though. She unconsciously straightened out two pencils to be parallel to each other. When she was satisfied, she reread over the telegram before deciding seven times wasn't healthy, folded it, and stored it carefully in a drawer.

Diaval Amsel was kind, however. Maleficent couldn't keep count of how many times she had seen him stop in the halls to help a man who dropped a briefcase of papers or a lady that struggled to carry packages to appropriate offices. In such a serious environment, genuine kindness like that did not go unnoticed.

She threw a glance at the wall clock, and it declared the time: ten thirty-two. _Great, _she mentally groaned, _it's only half past ten, and I have to deal with Adler. I haven't even had lunch yet._

Full lips pursed into a tight line. _Might as well get this over with sooner rather than later._

* * *

A voice, muffled from the door permitted her access. "Enter."

Mentally bracing herself for a conversation circuitously maneuvered as an argument, Maleficent turned the knob and stepped inside Aurel Adler's office. Not having prepared herself for the cigarette smoke that lingered in the air, she swallowed down a cough that tickled at the back of her throat.

"Close the door, please," Adler's chapped lips told her as he focused his attention on the papers that were, apparently, entertaining his interest more than her attendance. Maleficent restrained the irritation that prickled up under her skin.

"Is this a private matter, Herr Adler?" She wasn't taking any chances with this slimy weasel of a man.

_That _got him to look up, even though it was as a glare. She was used to it. He ignored her question. The end of his pen pointed to the small chair she had sat in four months ago. "Take a seat."

The possible topics of this conversation ran through her mind in a structured list that was ordered from worst- to least-offensive.

Number one: she was about to be fired.

As much as the idea of being dissolved from the strategist force upset her, it was probable (knowing Adler), but also unlikely. She had maintained a clean record _and _arrived to her office five minutes before seven-thirty a.m. ever since she had been hired. Unless Adler discovered something that made her worthy of being dismissed permanently, Maleficent wasn't too worried about this.

Number two: she was being replaced and moved.

The notion of some eighteen-year-old boy freshly drawn from military formation replacing her so she could work under him made her as upset as being laid off. However, she remembered that the German commanders were on the brink of attacking Britain, and she doubted that not even the dumbest of generals would swap out an experienced strategist (who had proven herself well for being in only four months, she thought) in exchange for a naïve soldier. She moved on in her list.

Number three: Adler was about to criticize one of her decisions.

This one didn't need much consideration. She battled with Adler on a daily, if not hourly, basis. This wouldn't be much different, but still aggravated her to no end, especially if he was calling her in to discuss it instead of over the phone.

Perhaps he wanted to see if he could procure a sign of visible frustration from her, just for shits and giggles.

She sat without missing a beat.

Adler steepled his fingers together after he was done and studied her with a muddy gaze; it undressed her as much as it did disparage and judge her. The only thought that crossed Maleficent's mind was not how he was eating her alive with his stare, but simply how ironic it was that he was steepling his fingers as though he represented anything church- or God-like.

Maybe he considered himself a god. She didn't doubt the concept, having experienced his condescending looks and pompous words well more than once.

_A god with one worshipper, _she thought. _Himself._

Finally, it seemed that he decided to grace her with dialogue. "You read the telegram, correct?"

"Yes." Out of all the things they _could _have talked about, this wasn't on her list. "What about it?"

"Good." He opened a drawer and pulled out a box of cigarettes. "What do you think about it?"

_Was he really asking for her opinion? _This came as a surprise—so much so that she didn't register him lighting his cigarette. "I think that based off of the contents of the message, we are planning an invasion of Britain." It came out with an obviously skeptical tone.

Adler drew a breath on his tobacco. Maleficent watched as the roll of paper lit up a bit and crumpled, just like Adler was about to do to her opinion. The words came out on an exhale of smoke. "I don't want to hear one bit of protest from you."

"Herr Adler, that is absurd—"

"What did I _just _say?" he growled. "Germany _will _invade Britain, and I don't want your bloody mouth yapping on about any silly notion of how it's a bad idea—"

"_Silly notion?" _Maleficent laughed at the irrationality of Adler's claim, and deliberately disregarded his orders. "Herr Adler, do you realize, statistically, the casualties Germany could suffer? I understand we are strong, but Britain is no feeble France—"

"_I_ _said enough!_" he roared. Maleficent held her hard gaze. "_Blitzkrieg _tactics have swept both Poland _and _France. We have occupied them with hardly a scratch. We are well prepared for—"

"Do you understand, Herr Adler," Maleficent interrupted, the address '_Herr Adler' _becoming less and less respectful as the argument escalated, "that the British have been rationing since _January?_ They don't even recognize Pétain as the leader of France. They won't be as easily surprised. Who knows how long they've been preparing for this? Have you even been paying _any _attent—"

Adler slammed a thick palm down on his desk. "_Fräulein Nacht!—"_

The amount of fury in the consequential _smack _against the wood was equated in Maleficent's even, steady tone. "_Herr Adler. _I am one of your strategists. I am obligated to tell you my opinion so the higher generals can make an appropriate decision—"

"The decision has already been made," he bit out, and Maleficent finally fell silent. "We begin on the tenth. Forces have already been gathered in France."

_The U-boats are in place. _Damn it all, why didn't she catch that earlier? "Two _days?_" God above, were they going to gobble up Europe overnight and expect zero resistance?

"Yes." He returned to his papers. "I'll send you the current formation to overview and give to the Sergeant Eichmann to look at together. Remember," his brown gaze looked more like dirt to Maleficent, and it was riddled with bug-like parasites, "not a word of protest."

_'Not a word of protest.' He sounds like a rapist, _she thought as she held her tongue. "Yes, sir." The word _sir _dripped out like venom on her lips. "I'll do my best to remember that."

"You _will _remember," he corrected. "You may see yourself out."

_Thank God. _As she was walking towards the door, he cleared his throat. She stopped, her hand on the doorknob.

"Fräulein Nacht?"

Inwardly cursing, she turned around with a neutral expression.

"You might want to consider hiring a secretary." He did not look up from his files. "Your workload is about to double."

* * *

_Heerführer: _General


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **One more chapter before I actually get my butt in gear and frantically finish all this summer work that I've been procrastinating! Yay! And kudos to the beautiful user Kuntergrau-Dunkelbunt for helping me out with the German translations! Double yay! Read on :)

* * *

Christ on a cross, Maleficent was about to wring Adler's flabby turkey neck with her bare hands if he did this again.

She walked with a calm, refined sort of raging wrath back to her office, heels _click-clacking _like gunshots on the tile floors. Wound up tighter than the bun of chestnut hair that sat on her head, her stature was enough to send people in the halls running off to the sides and out of her way, muttering "_Entschuldigung, Fräulein Nacht" _or "_Guten Tag, Fräulein Nacht"—_normally unheard of, since she was a woman, and women generally were not graced with such politeness in a male-dominated environment.

But then again, when a quietly explosive ball of anger was barreling towards you with a stiff, brisk walk and narrowed green eyes that resembled pools of venom, even the most self-righteous man would step out of the way with a civil apology, no matter the gender. Her high cheekbones, in this state, looked sharp enough to be razors; her jaw was set so squarely and tightly that, when opened to give a quick, terse reply, it jerked with resistance. Teeth seemed to be more like fangs as her upper lip curled to grant a curt smile to passers-by.

Polite or not, Maleficent was too irritated to care. As she approached her office, she saw Diaval Amsel shifting through some mail from his postbox. He glanced up casually at the sound of her heels, did another take, and his dark eyes shot up, alarmed. His spine went rigid.

"Everything alright, Fräulein Nacht—"

"Call for Sergeant Eichmann," she stated coldly. "Have him in my office as soon as he is able."

The apple of Amsel's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Right away, Fräulein Nacht."

With a deep sigh, she collapsed in her chair and clutched the arms of it with frustration.

"God above," she muttered to herself, "I need a cig."

Maleficent wasn't a regular smoker, she was a stressed smoker. Never would she think of smoking pack after pack like Adler did, but when she had too much on her mind, she would light one and let her worries burn away, at least for a few minutes. Through her crimson-tinted thoughts, she managed to find the box of cigarettes that she kept in her desk, lit it, and sucked in a deep puff.

_Inhale._ The smoke burned down her throat and around her lungs. It would be utterly ridiculous, even for a man like Adler, to inform _all _his strategists that they were invading Britain two days before. He couldn't have sprung a surprise like that on everyone. They wouldn't have time to prepare. No, Adler must have found a way to tip-toe the subject around her and tell all of his other strategists, situated U-boats, planes, and soldiers, and _then _he would decide to tell her before she could have a word in edgewise.

So that meant that everyone else knew before her. Wonderful. But why?

_Exhale._ Smoke trailed out of her mouth slowly and dissipated into the air. _Not a word of protest. _Adler must've expected her stance on the situation, and wanted to prevent her from convincing the other strategists that now wasn't the time to attack. If Adler was the minority opinion among his colleagues, he would appear a fool if he didn't bring that opinion to the higher commanders.

And Adler couldn't be proved wrong by a woman, now could he?

_Inhale. _The tip of the cigarette glowed and crinkled. Of course not. If the Germans charged in on the offensive and were unsuccessful (or worse, totally crushed) it would be enough to annihilate his pretentious ego of epic proportions. Adler and every sergeant underneath him would return to Germany with their tails trapped between their legs, and he would have to come to terms with the fact that _she _was right.

_Exhale. _Maleficent twirled the roll of paper between her fingers. Adler was willing to risk the lives of good German soldiers to keep his position as Department Know-It-All safe and secure.

What a selfish little_ saukerl. _It didn't help that it added to the creeping feeling that he was hiding more than just military plans from her.

A set of knocks on the doorframe drew her away from her thoughts. Her eyes shifted and her chin tilted to see Sergeant Eichmann standing patiently; his warm brown gaze studied her with concern. "I hope you don't take offense, Fräulein Nacht," he said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, "but you appear rather stressed."

"Your observation isn't incorrect, Sergeant Eichmann." It came out a bit more exasperated than she intended. The remains of her breath carried a thin veil of smoke into the air. "Please, make yourself comfortable." Maleficent was surprised at how much calmer she had become after the cigarette. "Herr Amsel will be here shortly with plans on the next target."

She might as well act like she knew what was happening all along. Better to pretend and go with it than be known as the one who was left out of the equation.

"Ah, yes. Britain." Eichmann walked to a wide window and, large hands clasped behind his back, gazed out the window in thought. "The men are nervous, but I have been trying to reassure them that their training has prepared them well."

"They have a right to be nervous." Maleficent rose from her chair, put out her cigarette, and adjusted a few things on her desk. _To hell with Adler._ "Britain is a bit more of a beast than France."

Balthazar Eichmann. He was a lumbering sort of man, with thick legs and arms, a broad chest and shoulders, and a square, stiff face. Maleficent wouldn't be surprised if the German engineers modeled their newest tanks off of him; Eichmann was certainly built like one, equipped with enough firepower to knock a Soviet out dead cold, but he also came with a wise attitude that made him a controlled, quiet man. She was sure that he wouldn't think twice for giving up his life for one of his soldiers—Eichmann was a refreshing sort of selflessness that wasn't often found in wartime. Perhaps the First World War made him that way.

He turned to her and opened his mouth to reply, but Diaval Amsel fluttered in at the same time, carrying the papers that Adler passed to him (and also disrupting the ones on Maleficent's desk). He gave a salute. "Sergeant Eichmann."

"Herr Amsel." Eichmann replied. "To your duties."

Maleficent took the papers from Amsel and dismissed him, then absorbed as much information as she could within fifteen seconds to get up to speed on their positions. _U-boats attacking merchant ships. German scout planes sweeping the English Channel. Foot army at the ready._

_ Foot army? _"Sergeant."

Heavy footsteps shook the floor. "Yes, Fräulein Nacht?"

"Of all the things I would advise," she tried to keep her tone leveled, "do _not_ send Germans onto British shores."

"Understood. The army is only if we successfully penetrate Britain through sea and air."

_Thank God there's _some _semblance to this plan._ "That is all I have to say." She really couldn't offer him much more unless she looked it over more carefully. "I will send for Herr Amsel to fetch you if I see anything amiss."

"Thank you, Fräulein Nacht." There was something lingering about his reply, as if he wanted to say something more.

Green eyes flicked up from the papers permitting him to continue.

"There is one thing, Fräulein Nacht…" Another rumble, and he cleared his throat. "I may need Herr Amsel for this operation."

This time, she stopped scanning the documents completely and gave him a good, long stare. As always, he waited with never-ending patience for her reply.

"Not to question your judgment, Sergeant Eichmann," she answered, a small ball of dread rolling around in the pit of her gut, "but why would you need Amsel for this mission?"

The topic of discussion was currently walking around the commons area in a flurry, talking to multiple people and assisting strategists and generals with files and errands. In a moment of silence, both of them observed Amsel zipping about to-and-fro, while two sets of gazes darting along quickly to keep up with his speedy enthusiasm. "Despite his…" Eichmann chose his words carefully, "_energetic _behavior, he's one of the best pilots I've seen. Although at first, I wasn't sure if he could be focused enough to fly, so I reassigned him here to see the difference." A great breath escaped Eichmann's chest. "I don't know why I did it. The man takes to a plane like a bird takes to the air." Amsel noticed them watching and waved. A small smile touched the sergeant's face. "He's a natural. He doesn't deserve being cooped up in offices like this."

_It is only when someone takes something away from you do you realize how much you value it, _Maleficent thought. Yes, she was going to miss the lively young man (especially since he was the only one daring enough to return some of her dry sarcasm) and all the (sometimes annoying) light he brought to her day.

"I can see you think highly of him," Maleficent said quietly, "and if you believe he will provide an important asset to the air force, I bear no qualms about you recruiting him back into the military."

She knew that Diaval would've left whether she liked it or not, but giving Eichmann a sense of ease about it was also important. Besides, if he really _was_ as good of a pilot as the sergeant claimed him to be, she didn't have a problem with it if he could serve Germany to his fullest extent.

And she trusted Balthazar Eichmann enough to believe him, because she could tell there was no falsity in his warm brown eyes.

Maleficent could feel the atmosphere lighten as his relief filled the room. He gave a short word of thanks, and said that he better be off to see to his other obligations.

She was returning to her desk when Eichmann's heaving footsteps stopped suddenly. "Fräulein Nacht?"

She turned to face him. "Yes, Sergeant?"

The sincerity in his voice held his promise. "I'll make sure he comes back."

* * *

_Entschuldigung: _Excuse me

_Guten Tag: _Good day

_saukerl: _bastard

**A/N:**No Aurora in this chapter I'm afraid, but you'll be introduced to her soon! And we'll be uncovering some more historical wonderfulness! _Triple yay, amirite? :D_

Thanks for all the lovely feedback and stay tuned!


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was beginning its fiery descent behind the buildings of Berlin when Maleficent began her walk home, cigarette in one hand and briefcase in the other. Straightening the jacket on her shoulders, she wove her way through the bustling sidewalks that trimmed the wide boulevards and gazed upon the various shops with mild interest.

Maleficent knew she could cut the time it took her to get home in half if she took the bus, but being crowded in with other people wasn't as appealing to her as being able to enjoy something much more leisurely. She brought the cigarette to her lips. Besides, the rumbling engines of automobiles, quiet conversations, ringing of bicycle bells, and tinkling of store chimes provided for much more pleasant background noise than the loud, cramped, stuffy environment of the tram.

Walking home also gave her more time to think._ Exhale._ Smoke wafted up into the busy air. Her green gaze traveled along the power lines that streaked the bursting Berlin sunset, over small, rectangular windows that lined the sides of solid buildings in rows, at signs boasting advertisements and company names, through glass upon the dazzling displays of merchandise with Nazi flags to accompany them. A man with a stout face smiled at her as he passed by. A car honked from down the street.

She rounded a corner, quickly stepped out of the way of a cyclist, and took a breath on her cigarette. _Inhale. _Had Adler known of Diaval's departure? She didn't doubt the notion. Diaval served as a papers-boy, in a sense, for the strategists and generals that didn't have time for such things. He deserved more, she supposed, for all the work he had done for them with such a positive attitude.

Unfortunately, it also meant that Maleficent really needed to consider hiring a secretary, which meant interviews she didn't feel like conducting. Adjusting her attitude to new people.

Learning the smallest mannerisms all over again.

Maleficent knew when Diaval was approaching her office. His spritely voice would chirp cheerfully as he strode alongside another colleague, talking of anything varying from _'Isn't the sun absolutely lovely today?' _to _'Guten Tag, Herr Kappel, you're looking as stately as ever!'_, and his light, quick footsteps would create fluttering echoes against the tile floor. By the time his head of raven-black hair was visible through the glass of Maleficent's door, she already had pencils and pens weighing down her square stacks of papers, prepared for Diaval's energetic entrance that swept documents out of place. It was only when she was deep in thought that she forgot to do this, and even so, Diaval always apologized.

Now that he was leaving, she would have to train _herself_ all over again. She would have to memorize the sound of unfamiliar footsteps, and _make _them familiar. She would have to distinguish the _click-clack _of heels or the _tap-tap _of shoes. She would have to work to sift through the voices of the office and find _one_ in particular. She would have to learn the regular demeanor of this new person and tweak her actions around them to make the situation as comfortable as possible.

_Exhale. _Again_._

She gazed absentmindedly through store windows as she walked by. It was only after the third shop that she realized she was looking past the displayed goods that sparkled in the light of the Berlin sunset, and paid no attention to the proud, red Nazi flags that hung over them—rather, she was peering _into _the shops and at the people inside. Her stride never changed; she caught momentary flashes of normal Germans carrying on with normal life.

_Inhale. _Window—

_A baker, whose ruddy face stood out prominently against his blond hair, armed his hands with oven mitts to move pans of hot bread—_

—brick wall, window—

_Lifting a crate onto the counter, a general store owner loaded the wooden box with miscellaneous items. The label read: _STORAGE—

—brick wall, window—

_Even though she couldn't hear the laugh, a mother chuckled as her children marched playfully around the shelves, while the father looked on with quiet amusement—_

_ Exhale. _—brick wall, window—

_Empty._

Maleficent closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if to prepare herself, and then opened her eyes slowly, allowing her gaze to tentatively weave between the jagged holes in the window.

And she tentatively weaved through the memories, too.

_/ November 9__th__, 1938_

_10:34 p.m., _

_An unsettling Wednesday evening cloaked in smoke, screams, and shattering_

_ On the Night of Broken Glass, Maleficent Nacht watched from behind her unbroken window._

_ With a hand curled around the curtain fabric, she peered out over the rioting streets of Berlin. Shouts and swears created a clamor that rose in the air similar to the smoke that drifted up from the blazing synagogues._

_ The flames reflected in Maleficent's eyes._

_ "__**Jude!**__" was all she could hear among the chaos; "__**Jude!**__" was screamed spitefully, wrathfully; "__**Jude!**__" was written angrily in red and black on the walls of stores; "__**Jude!**__" was running rampant through the streets; "__**Jude!**__" was a big-nosed rat, a six-pointed star, the devil's number, a living, breathing nightmare._

_**Jude! Jude! Jude!**_

_ There, behind her unbroken window, Maleficent peered through the crowds of Germans walking home, glancing at the chaos as if it were merely odd. There, behind her unbroken window, Maleficent heard the squeals of glee and approving claps of stylishly, primly dressed women observing on the sidewalks; their gloved hands staining with the soot that hovered as dense as fog in the air. There, behind her unbroken window, Maleficent caught children running through the streets, throwing rocks at any vandalized property, participating in the ruckus._

_ There, behind her unbroken window, Maleficent watched as a mother brought out her infant to look on all the fun._

_ And there, behind her unbroken window, Maleficent closed the curtain and cried. /_

_/ November 11__th__, 1938_

_A disorienting Friday afternoon at Heidelberg University _

_ Reports and newspapers were publishing such different opinions that Maleficent didn't know who to believe. _

_ "__**Healthy instincts!**__" Goebbels[__1]__ claimed. "The German people are anti-Semitic. It has no desire to have its rights restricted or to be provoked in the future by parasites of the Jewish race."_

_ This, to Maleficent, appeared to be true. The Germans, based on what she witnessed a few nights ago, seemed to hate the Jews so much that they stormed through the streets, breaking and swearing and razing as much Jew as they could find. Perhaps, Maleficent thought, that the Jewish problem had grown so severe without her noticing that the Germans simply exploded after it reached a certain point._

_ The issue was that she never remembered it being a problem before._

_ Perhaps, Maleficent thought, she had her head buried in books so deeply at the university that she didn't realize what was going on outside of school._

_ She didn't know._

_ All she could conclude was that the Germans and the Jews were not one people any longer. The tension was causing conflict. The destruction of Berlin. The fires that nearly set the city aflame. The political barking of what _should_ we do and what _can_ we do._

_ If Jews leaving the country was the only solution to the problem, to make Germany healthier and tranquil, then so be it._

_ And, Maleficent decided, if studying law wasn't going to help Germany, then she was going to quit. She was going to help bring the Germans peace again._

_ So be it._

_ Amen.[__2]__ /_

—brick wall, window—

As quickly as the memory came, it left as soon as she passed the vacant, abandoned store window and continued walking down the street. A warm July breeze tickled her ears and gently tugged at a few loose strands of chestnut hair that brushed against her forehead. Taking a long drag of what was left of her cigarette, she focused instead on how _normal _Berlin seemed. It was regularly noisy, filled with the chattering of people and the honking of automobiles; men tipped their hats to friends or colleagues that they passed by; women dressed cleanly in crisp outfits walked with heads high, their short hair bobbing up-and-down as they walked.

Berlin had also taken to the Nazi flags well. It gave the city a sense of unity, of pride. It shone in the faces of the people.

_Exhale. _Her cigarette was long finished, now. Maleficent tossed it on the ground, stomped on it, and continued her walk home—head held high, chin up, shoulders square.

She reached her tiny apartment a few minutes later. And when she drew the curtains, she did not cry.

* * *

**_[1] Gobbels_**: Joseph Gobbels was the Minister of Propaganda for the Nazi Party.

**_[2] Amen_**: Sometimes, "amen" is translated as "so be it". In this context, Maleficent is vowing with faith in God that she will be able to support Germany and bring peace to her country again.

_Jude_: Jew

_Fun fact_: During _Kristallnacht_ (Night of Broken Glass), there were children that actually broke windows of Jewish synagogues, there were women that actually applauded the destruction, and mothers that actually brought their children out to see. However, most of Germany disapproved of this event, and saw it as senseless (but Maleficent doesn't know that...because the Minister of Propaganda says most of Germany wants it, right?).

**A/N:** Whew! Managed to get a chapter done in between all my schoolwork. I know, I know, there's no Aurora yet...but she's coming. Very, very, very soon. And then the slow burn shall begin! Anyway, I hope this chapter gave you guys more insight on how much Mal knows about the persecution of Jews and how she justifies her position as a Nazi...and I hope it also holds you guys over until I can finish the next chapter of _Of_ _Thieves and Thrones_! Stay curious, beasties!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Sorry this took so long! Here's chapter five and finally some Mal/Aurora interaction! I'm probably going to go back and edit it later. I feel like it's inadequate because I am so frazzled by schoolwork. Some of it might not make any sense, I dunno. That's what you guys are for.

* * *

_July 9__th__, 1940_

_9:32 p.m._

_ Target the RAF [1]. _Luftwaffe _[2]_ _to Portsmouth, factories, infrastructure._

_ RAF. Wipe out the RAF—_

"If you keep staring at those plans, Fräulein, they're sure to catch fire."

Maleficent Nacht's tired, burning gaze shifted slowly, threateningly, to whoever the _hell _decided to disturb her, because damnit, Germany was going to assault Britain in _one fucking day_—

Dark irises met hers steadily, flickering like a soft candle flame with concern. The prickling irritation that bristled under her skin subsided, and she exhaled a deep, quiet sigh. "Amsel."

"Fräulein Nacht." A small, mischievous grin curled around his lips. "I'm not supposed to be here, you know."

"Better get back to your bloody place before you get _me _in trouble," she retorted, but there was a faint smile in her eyes.

They both knew what he was here for.

"You know, I thought I'd have some grand, sentimental parting words ready," he said, and it was followed by a small, warm chuckle, "but I'm afraid I'm not much of a poet."

Maleficent leaned back in her chair and fiddled with one of her pens. "That makes two of us."

They both laughed at that, but after the laughter fell away, the words hung bittersweet in the air.

Diaval turned to the window, as if to find some sort of inspiration from the view of the peaceful night sky, and shifted on his feet in habitual nervousness. Maleficent thought, in that moment, with the moonlight streaking his black hair and paling his features, he looked so very much like a ghost.

She closed her eyes for a long while in an attempt to erase the intrusive thought of Diaval's corpse, and when she finally opened them, the ghost was watching her with fear creeping in his heart.

His lower lip trembled, and a deep breath made the shaking in his body audible. "They—the soldiers—when I'm with the soldiers, I don't—no one wants to show how scared they are, because we're—we're part of the_ indestructible _Luftwaffe, you know? And I guess—I guess when I see you, and I think of my family—I—"

"Diaval." Her whisper was so soft that words stuck in his open mouth, halted by shock.

Maleficent Nacht had never spoken gently before.

Weighted with the fear that sunk like lead in his chest, his dark eyes found the floor as he shifted on his feet, waiting for Maleficent's words of comfort to come. They didn't. Diaval's name had simply fallen past her lips, just to get him to be quiet for a moment, because God, the trepidation that silently shook his body reminded her too much of her own father, coming home from war—and she couldn't think about that, not now.

Not ever.

Diaval looked up from the floor when the words did not come, and Maleficent tried training her expression to be strong, calm—but Diaval Amsel wasn't oblivious. He saw it there: the remnant of a memory flickered past Maleficent's green eyes, darkened by the shadows that crept around the room.

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't be sorry," Maleficent snapped, leaning forward from her chair. Something foreign rose up in her then, something that prodded under her skin like bayonets. Her gaze hardened like German steel, and it glinted with sharp edges in the moonlight. "_Never_ be sorry."

* * *

_1923_

_A peaceful evening in a small apartment._

_Björn Nacht loves the creases of thin printed paper against his fingers, though it is outdated and old. _

_The headline reads: GERMANY FIGHTS WITH ITS VERY BEST: NO BETTER MEN THAN GERMAN MEN!_

_There is a family of three that picks up coins on the street._

_There is one can of beans in the pantry, and two under the sink._

"Vater," a small voice chirped from the corner of the room. "Vater, Vater, Vater!"

The corners of sunken eyes crinkled at the sound of the girl's voice, but did not look up from the daily newspaper. Thick, large, bear-like hands came to delicately adjust the glasses that sat on the bridge of a nose. "Tochter, Tochter, Tochter, Tochter! What is it?"

"Vater, where is Mutter?"

The eyes stopped scanning the thin, organized rows of black and white print and raised slowly, agonizingly so, to peer over the edge of the pages and at the girl. Her dress fanned out on the floor, rippling faded yellows and oranges across the wood, and her small face, slightly rounded, expressed no pain or unease. Tiny fingers worked at a puzzle, pieces scattered across the room.

"Why do you ask so often, my Tochter?" the man, _Vater_, replied sweetly, but deep in his eyes an ache stirred. He hid them behind his paper. "I have told you already. Mutter is not here."

"Yes, yes, yes," the girl rolled her eyes dramatically and set the pieces of her puzzle down, turning her mahogany-crowned hair to study her _Vater. _"But _where?_"

After a few moments, the father dared to look at his daughter from over the daily news, and knew by the pure innocent curiosity in her eyes that he could neither deny her nor tell her. Why hold back something she so desperately longed to know? Why crush a girl when she was only so young?

He sighed and set his paper down, and gestured for the girl. "Come, sit on Vater's lap."

She eagerly scrambled up from her game and clambered into his open arms. Nestling into the chair with him, her small green eyes glittered excitedly—nervously—waiting for an answer. The longer her father took to begin, though, the more anxious she became, and the shaking of his chest and his long, slow blinks caused the tiniest worms of fear to creep up her sides. Her little heart pitter-pattered quickly in her chest. "Vater?"

"Tochter." He opened his eyes, and they were almost empty. Sloshing at the bottoms of his irises was his own kind of fear, but one the girl could not identify. Later on, she would know the same exact fear looked very similar to the methodical swirling of vodka at the bottom of a bottle.

But that day was not today, no. Vater took a deep breath. "Mutter is gone, sweet Maleficent."

"Gone _where?_" Maleficent demanded with a frustrated pout, "_where _is she?"

He gave the girl a small, trembling smile. "_Himmel_."

"Why? How?"

Calloused, thick fingers came to gently stroke Maleficent's hair. "You will understand when you're older, my Tochter."

"No, I want to know _now_," Maleficent huffed. She didn't quite understand the concept of death, for she was only six—but she would later, as she would all things.

An indecisive sort of sound rumbled from the back of Vater's throat. Finally, after another great breath, he murmured with such a soothing tone that it sanded down Death's rough edges. "Mutter gave birth to you. She died shortly after."

Maleficent blinked. "I killed Mutter?"

"No!" Vater gasped, "God, no, my Tochter, no—"

"Oh, Vater," Maleficent's lower lip trembled as she burrowed her small face into his neck, "Oh Vater I am sorry—"

"_Stop!_" he cried and yanked back Maleficent, grabbed her chin, and angled it towards his own face. His eyes were partially _there _and partially _somewhere else_—a trepidation stampeded through them, recalling another voice, another memory. "Don't you _dare_ be sorry," he whispered, "_never_ be sorry!"

* * *

_July 16__th__, 1940_

The unusual lack of a certain cheerful, chirpy attitude made Maleficent's following days much more difficult.

She never realized how much she relied on Diaval Amsel as a distraction from her thoughts. His constant bumbling about, haphazard strewing of her papers, and occasional tripping always gave her something else to focus on. His embarrassed laughter and disgruntled mumbling afterwards always made her harden her features more to conceal her amusement.

It was this absence that made her uncomfortable. Maleficent Nacht hated change, though she was an expert at adapting to it. Now with Herr _Clumsy _gone, she noted with an inward sigh, she must find something else to distract her from her own mind.

_Someone _else.

It was this silence that muffled all sound from around her office that made her uneasy. Sometimes, quick flashes of childhood moments with her _Vater _scrambled past her vision as she tried to work. Sometimes, she had to put down her pen and close her eyes. Sometimes, she would look up and see Vater's eyes, sunken, confused, and scratched with war scars watching her from the window, or from the doorframe, or from the wall opposite.

Sometimes, she would scowl at those eyes. Sometimes, she recoiled inwardly at the alcohol that rose in them for tears. Sometimes, she would bite her tongue and cast her eyes back to her papers, pretending she didn't see them. Pretending she didn't see the bombs exploding in his pupils, the trenches around his irises, the barbed wire that curled around his brow, the no man's land that his gaze staggered over.

"Don't you _dare_ be sorry," Maleficent murmured under her breath as she scrawled angrily on a document, "_never_ be sorry."

A knock at her door caused her to wince. "Enter," she called, not looking up from her papers.

The hinges creaked, and a young man stood straight to attention. "Fräulein Nacht, your interviewees are present."

"Bring the first on the list in," she ordered tersely. The boy nodded silently and walked hastily away.

As much as she hated to admit it, Adler was right—with Diaval's absence, Maleficent needed a secretary. She sighed again and began filing away papers systematically. Was she looking forward to this? Not particularly, but it was what had to be done.

Something chirpier than Diaval squeaked from her doorframe. "Hi!—Um, I mean, _Guten Tag_, Fräulein Nacht. I'm here for the position!"

Maleficent nearly jumped and looked up to find a freckled face and flaming red hair smiling cheekily towards her. When she raised a questioning brow, the woman only shot her hand up and gave a short, quick wave before walking quickly over to the chair opposite the desk.

The girl looked like she could barely contain her energy in that seat, or that the seat could barely contain _her _energy.

"My sister went _on _and _on _and _on _about how I needed to get a job, 'cause—well, that might be too much information, but I mean, with times like this, I had to get one, right? So—" Upon seeing Maleficent's pointed, unimpressed, and slightly annoyed stare (only Fräulein Nacht could combine those three into one look, really), she gasped and fidgeted in her chair. "Oh, Elsa told me this would happen. I ramble. A lot. Like, a _lot _a lot. It's a problem, actually—"

Air hissed from Maleficent's nose. "Rambling."

She wasn't quite sure what to make of this girl…yet. It was all rather confusing (and a bit startling) to see someone so…_eager._ Was that the word? Was hyper more appropriate?

"—Oh, damn it all!" The woman rolled her teal-blue eyes and huffed. "I'm Anna. Anna Hummel." She boldly extended her hand, with her chest puffed up a bit. Maleficent shook it firmly—but was still a bit disoriented. She had never seen someone with such a large capacity for zeal, or someone who didn't realize how strange they were acting. Perhaps she realized, Maleficent considered, but didn't care.

"Well," Maleficent looked down at her list of questions, back up at the woman, who was practically bouncing in her chair, and back down at the questions again. This was going to be a long interview. "Let's get started, shall we?"

* * *

_That was most definitely a distraction,_ Maleficent thought as the red-haired girl pranced out of her office. A loud _whoop _echoed down the long corridors. _There is no way I could hire her and retain my sanity._

Tired, irritated grumbles could be heard from neighboring offices. _Or the sanity of my colleagues, for that matter._

"Joseph," Maleficent barked, and the young man scurried to her doorframe. "Call…" she glanced down at her list, "…Aurora Strauss, please."

"Yes, Fräulein." The quick, hasty footsteps scampered away, and Maleficent sighed once she was sure he was gone. _Last interview_, she told herself. _Last one, and then you can go home and smoke a cig—_

She sensed someone's eyes upon her, and gave a short, disinterested glance up towards the doorframe. Her eyes only caught a quick flash of blonde hair, and it took a few seconds for her to realize that her last interviewee was there. Looking up again, she almost opened her mouth to permit the woman inside when she hesitated.

Maleficent Nacht did not normally hesitate.

She regarded the woman carefully—with much more care than she had Anna. Perhaps she did not feel rushed to get the interview started, perhaps it was because she was tired, perhaps it was because Maleficent was an observantly fickle person, perhaps, perhaps, _perhaps._ It was only later that Maleficent came to the conclusion: she didn't know why she took such great time studying Aurora Strauss.

Donned in a simple, light blue dress that swayed just below her knees, Aurora Strauss stood quietly. Golden tresses intricately and tightly pulled up behind the back of her head into a neat, clean bun. Along her pale neck rested two strings of pearls, and above those pearls was a round, soft face—gentle and kind—and slightly nervous, but all in the same. Two deep blue eyes waited patiently for a sign of approval.

Maleficent didn't give it—not quite yet. Before she nodded her head to let Aurora in, she caught the glimmer of a stone on Aurora's left finger. Engagement ring. She observed her posture. Straight. Calm. Thankfully still, unlike Anna.

In those few short moments, Maleficent had all the information she needed. Aurora Strauss. Quiet. Respectful. Aurora Strauss. Obedient and mild-mannered. Aurora Strauss. Engaged in a time of war. How romantic.

Maleficent gestured for her to enter.

Aurora walked forward carefully and sat in the chair, hands clasped in front of her body. It was only after she was seated did she say quietly, "_Guten Tag_, Fräulein Nacht."

"Likewise," she replied. "You are Aurora Strauss?"

She nodded silently.

Maleficent organized her papers and retrieved a fresh pen. The Nazi flag hanging behind her caused a red glow to reflect off of her mahogany hair and off the square shoulders of her crisp uniform. Aurora, all the while, sat perfectly still in the chair, head held steady, eyes trained ahead.

Clearing her throat, Maleficent uncapped her pen and scrawled some information down, then looked back up to the woman across from her.

Her skin prickled not because of the fact that Aurora was making eye contact with her, but it was because of the _way _Aurora was making eye contact. Her deep blue eyes did not scrutinize like Adler, but rather simply _looked_, just _observed. _Her gaze seemed to casually analyze the sharp inclines of Maleficent's face with an open, child-like curiosity. Christ, she had barely spoken ten words this entire time, and now Maleficent felt like she wanted to squirm in her own chair.

"I think," Maleficent said as she took a deep breath and leaned back in her seat, "we should start with previous experience. Your résumé says that you've worked in the past with your father? Could you elaborate?"

"Father always had documents scattered about his desk—and the house, really. He's never been the most organized one in the family…" Aurora's gaze fell sheepishly, and her pale cheeks flushed. Maleficent watched this behavior curiously (though she did not show it). Finally, she picked up her gaze and met Maleficent's again. "When I got old enough, he started having me file things away for him and whatnot. I became quite good at retrieving things on a whim."

"And how long did you do this for?"

"Since I was a teenager, until the war started. He has a new job now." Aurora's voice faltered on her last few words. Maleficent tilted her head to the side, and her eyebrows minutely creased.

"Well, it's a good thing he has that job…" she placed her pen down and leaned forward. Aurora's eyes grew at the movement. "…because you've got one yourself."

Maleficent normally never made rash decisions, but with only a handful of interviews and a potentially quiet, respectful, kind secretary in front of her, what other choice did she have?

"R…really?" It was the first time Aurora had stammered the entire interview, and she hastily stood out of her seat. "Thank you, Fräulein Nacht! I promise I won't let you down."

Maleficent's hands dug around her drawers, and she raised a brow. "We'll see."

Aurora shifted on her feet and looked at the floor.

"Now," Maleficent's voice returned to being stern and assertive, hard as German steel. "I come into work precisely five minutes before seven-thirty in the morning. You will arrive at or before seven-thirty, and no later. Your office will be in the empty room adjacent to mine. Bring all necessary materials. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes, Fräulein Nacht, I—" the sheepish smile grew wider across Aurora's face, and it made Maleficent soften, just a bit. "Pardon me, I wasn't expecting to get the job _today_—"

"I understand." Her eyes were sharp, but her tone was not. "We must discuss one more thing before you leave."

Aurora looked up at her expectantly.

"I do not permit any flirting or visitations of any sort, unless they are of dire emergency. Your fiancé is not allowed to be here during _or _after work hours. If you have…_business_ to conduct," Maleficent said with a hint of a grimace, "please do so outside of my office area."

She almost outright laughed at the blatant shock that slapped Aurora right in the face, but she managed to hold most of her laughter back—the rest of it, she covered with a cough. Tilting her chin up and narrowing her eyes, she gestured to the door. "Back here no later than seven-thirty. We'll see how you meet my expectations then."

* * *

[1] _RAF_: Royal Air Force. This was the British Air Force during WWII. It was very powerful.

[2] _Luftwaffe_: The German Air Force during WWII.

_Vater: _Father

_Tochter: _Daughter

_Mutter: _Mother

_Himmel: _Heaven

Teeny tiny fun facts:

**_Björn _is a German name that means "bear". Huah. Know that _every single frickin' name in this story has significant meaning behind it! :)_**

**I'ma go history nerd on you guys. After the Treaty of Versailles that ended WWI (1914-1918), Germany was severely punished with a massive war debt, was not allowed to raise an army, etc. etc. Germany's economy and entire system practically collapsed...leaving the depressed, poverty-stricken Germans desperate for redemption. Enter Adolf Hitler, promising the nation that it will be restored to its former glory. Eh? Hopefully that clears up that little flashback-y scene that Mal has with her father. **

Stay curious beasties!


End file.
